The Vocalist

“Jam it,” said the violinist

“there goes the hell,” said the guitarist

while the vocal artist sang the dead tunes of winter

now in the month of June it felt like a December solstice

when she would tie her head in a drape calling for the days

that she roamed around the outskirts of Montreal

She sang the Marine Song of long farewell

While on the beach in Mexico she had left the seas to become a doctor

and in the US she fairly lipped the tunes of time

She sang a lovely forlorn tune of separation

The lead drummer caught in the eye of the storm

and said Good Bye!

While she hovered with an intellectual,

who was dead drunk on time and space

and who held her hand and danced the time to forget

Canada Day!

The Evil Afternoon he took the bus to Puerto Rico

And slept on the floors of the bus station as if mopped by wind in his salutation

She called the evil afternoon a gay science to recover from

throngs of love.

They both skid on the surface of sea to stop the killer love game

of evil afternoon in its empty shoes!


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